


Gone Tomorrow

by anaraine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's here today. (She'll be gone tomorrow.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_of_Suburbia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/gifts).



Sarah startles, a little, as wind raps against her bedroom window, rattling the glass in its frame and pulling her attention from her book. The moon is a bare sliver in the night sky, higher than it had been when Sarah had tucked herself into bed with a promise to herself of just 'one chapter' before she actually went sleep. A glance at the clock on her nightstand only confirms what she already knows. 3 AM.

 _Good job, self,_ she chides. _You're going to be a wreck tomorrow. Today. Fuck._

She debates for a minute if she should try and catch what little sleep she can, but she's not tired, exactly. There's a good chance that she'd spend the next two hours awake anyways, so... she might as well get up and do something productive.

A slip of paper to mark her place, and her book is left on the nightstand table as she dons a dressing robe and shuffles downstairs into the kitchen without turning on the lights. It's her house - it's not like she's going to stumble into something.

Which is why she's surprised to see the thin ray of light coming down the hallway. A quiet detour to pick up a solid iron poker (one of many that are now scattered around her house) and Sarah is following the light to the kitchen, where she can hear the faint clink of fine china.

The vague suspicion that had been lurking in her tired mind is made clear as Sarah steps into the kitchen, her iron poker dipping in surprise.

"Casey!" she says, both alarmed and amused as the woman in question drops her teacup on its saucer with a scrape of porcelain that makes her cringe.

"Sarah," Casey blurts, looking a little shocked, before wiping the expression away into a small smile. "I thought you'd be asleep at this hour."

Sarah groans and drops herself on one of the island chairs. "I really should be," she agrees. She lifts the poker to place it on the island instead of scratching up her new kitchen floors.

Casey gives the poker a long look. "What were you going to do with that," she asks, sounding amused.

"Bludgeon you," Sarah says matter of factly. "Bludgeon the thief who had the nerve to steal my good china."

"Not call the police?" Casey asks, the edge of her lips curving delightedly.

Sarah is surprised to realize that it hadn't even crossed her mind. "Maybe after I'd gotten my china back," she rationalizes. She would've thought to call the police. Eventually.

Casey hums, picking up her cup and taking another sip. She doesn't look entirely believing, and Sarah can't blame her. "Is that tea?" she asks. She doesn't remember hearing the whistle of her kettle, and even when engrossed in a good book, the shrill noise is difficult to ignore.

Casey's lips are a slash of blood red against the ivory of the fine bone china. "I didn't want to wake you," she says, which answers Sarah's real question. Casey is inexplicably good at knowing what information Sarah is actually after. "The water should still be hot, if you'd like some."

Since that is the main reason Sarah had come down to the kitchen in the first place, it seems a little silly to try and deny it. Sarah gets up from her seat to pull down another cup and saucer, and dig out another tea ball for her Earl Grey mix. (The water from the kettle is just as hot as Casey implied, though none the burners on her old stove are the fading cherry red they should be.)

Sarah settles back down at the island, counting the seconds as the color of tea deepens. "It's good to see you," Sarah says to break the silence, skirting around the other things she wants to say.

'Why didn't you call?' 'How long will you stay this time?' 'Were you even going to be here in the morning?'

"It's good to see you too," she replies, pleasantly, but Sarah knows better. Her shoulders have tightened, her cup brought up defensively, tone pleasant instead of sultry - _guarded_. Casey knows exactly what Sarah is asking, and isn't going to answer her.

So. Sarah takes a deep breath and girds herself. Casey is here today. Which, honestly, is already more than Sarah has ever asked for. (Sarah has had a long time to come to terms with the fact that she's a bit of a coward when it comes to love.) She's not going to ruin what promises to be a nice day with Casey because she would like a sign of commitment.

(Casey always comes back. That's the flimsy justification Sarah uses when she thinks about asking for more. No matter how long Casey disappears for, she always comes back. And every time, it's like a puzzle piece falling into place, and Sarah forgets why she should take her key back or at least ask for _something_. Phone calls. Letters. A fucking telegram, even.)

"I need to go into work at six," Sarah says, fingers curling around her teacup and soaking in the warmth.

Casey relaxes, just enough that Sarah can tell she's taken words as they were meant. A peace offering. "I was thinking about going out to dinner."

"Dinner sounds lovely." She means it. Casey always finds the best little hole-in-the-wall restaurants. Sarah's lived in this town for all her life, but Casey knows it better. She'd be jealous, but it's a stupid thing to be jealous over. Especially when Casey is not shy about showing her where to go.

"When do you get off work?" Casey asks.

"Officially, at four, but I'm usually home by six. There's always something else that needs to be done."

"Reservations for seven, then?"

"Seven thirty," Sarah says after a slight hesitation. She'll be going through the Bianco Estate today, and there's no telling how disgusting she'll be when she gets home. She wants enough time to take a shower if she has to.

Casey smiles. It's the smile Sarah loves, a little shy and pleased. A little girl's smile, when she gets a present she honestly wanted. "Great," Casey says, and notices where Sarah is staring. A light blush dusts her cheeks, and she raises her teacup to hide her lips.

Sarah doesn't stop staring. She's making use of the time they have.

She's here today.

(She'll be gone, tomorrow.)


End file.
